


A Traveling Spin

by starlurker



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlurker/pseuds/starlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually skaters avoid traveling while spinning because good spins are supposed to be centered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Traveling Spin

**Author's Note:**

> Crack!AU written for the Generation Kill anon kink meme.
> 
> Original prompt: Figure Skating AU...with sex in the locker room after practice.

The nationals were just a month away and Nate knew he wasn't going to get a medal in this precursor event. This was his first competition after a long injury and switching coaches, so all things considered, things were going pretty well. Nate regretted the injury but never the coach switch -- Mike had done more for him in the past year than Ferrando ever did, Ferrando who left the minute it looked like Nate's injury was career-ending.

Medal contention here was between three people: Brad Colbert, Ray Person and Tony Espera. Brad was the master technician, the one who could whip quadruple lutzes out on the ice. Brad was 6'4"; his jumping ability defied logic because it should have been almost impossible to go as high as he did, considering his bulk, but Brad leaped through the air like his size was an afterthought. However, the judges usually deducted points from Brad's score because they found his routines sterile, but Nate has always liked them for their simplicity. Brad didn't have any use for frills and made minimalism work for him.

Person and Espera came into skating when Nate was injured. Person was a good technician but much better artistically than most of his competitors -- he was the second coming of Johnny Weir and was as big a shit disturber, only Person was straight. Espera was the happy medium between the Brad and Person, but hadn't yet had a chance to break through in a major competition, so he was hungry for it.

Then there was Nate, who used to be good at the things they were good at, but sidelined by injury, given a freebie by a sympathetic ice skating board. He went to college and finished his degree in classics while on crutches, worked his way up to a cane around graduation time. His enforced hiatus wasn't a total waste, but the injury took a long time to heal. Now that it was back to normal, now that he can launch himself in the air and land on one foot, Nate was reminded of how finite his time was. He probably has a year and half left before his body surrendered to time, and it was cruel timing that he knew how long he had left just as soon as he finished healing.

Nate was skating his long program in sixth place, his medal hopes nonexistent unless the top three skaters skated like they were having seizures on the ice. When the music started, Nate felt the rush of competition, the pressure of being in this theatre and went for it. He landed all his jumps and did a quick 'yay' in his head after the tricky triple toe-triple toe loop combination. He felt loose and energized for the entire four and a half minutes on the ice, his spins felt tight and centered, and all his jumps landed cleanly, with no wavering or bobbling.

Mike was beaming from the coach's corner and Nate couldn't help but smile back just as broadly. Mike was happy and so obviously proud that it was reward enough for Nate, more than good enough for today. He skated towards Mike, grabbing a few flowers thrown by fans on the way.

His score came to 240.43, good enough for second place after Schwetje. Mike's jaw clenched after seeing that score, and Nate felt the same way. He thought he skated better than that, certainly better than Schwetje, who somehow got a 246.89 after two-footing a jump, hitting the padded wall on the ice and flubbing a spin. Nate understood the new skating scoring system, but hated it in times like this because it seemed like the old biases were still operating. He stood up, waved to the fans, and walked out of the skater's corner to watch the rest of the competition. Mike was muttering under his breath, but Nate didn't pay attention -- the score was what it was.

Person was next on the ice and he was on and fucking brilliant. Nate was inspired watching him, tinged as it is sadness and a little envy. Person glided on the ice; he was a ballet dancer on skates. His jumps looked like he had taken flight, and his footwork was easily the hardest out of any competitor. When he finished his routine, Person did the devil horns gesture with his hands, which actually suited his black costume with red flames on the side.

When Person's score came, it's a 250.99. He gave the judges the finger and Nate had to shake his head because the guy had balls. He walked by Nate, clearly angry, but then walked back and said, "Hey Fick."

"Hi. Ray right?"

"Yeah. Nate or Nathaniel?"

"Nate."

"Good to see you back on the ice, man. I still remember your skate at Dubai. Pretty fucking awesome." He pointed a finger at the stands. "I can't believe fucking Schwetje got a better score than you here though. This sport is for losers."

Nate raised an eyebrow. Ray raised one right back and says "You deserve second place right now, s'all I'm saying." He walked away to meet with his coach, a scary Russian woman who looked like she could bend metal with a look.

Espera was next, and the hunger that Nate expected to show up makes itself known. Espera was skating a brand new routine about oppression, and what could have been heavy-handed and awkward worked like magic instead. He landed a quad and skated like a dream. He did a combination of difficult footwork that led into a fast, dizzying spin. He finished in a daze, and the audience took a minute to absorb it all before giving him a standing ovation.

While Espera was skating back to his coach, Nate heard a reporter somewhere already saying that Espera had probably won it, which pissed Nate off because Brad hadn't skated yet, but he also saw why the reporters were already declaring the victor; Espera deserved it and was astonishing on the ice. His scores went up on the monitors and it was a whopping 265.16 -- unless Brad went on the ice and levitated, it was probably Espera's medal.

Nate happened to make eye contact with Espera as he got out of the skater's corner, and Espera looked like he was about to say hi when he was surrounded by reporters. He nodded to Nate instead and did a two-finger salute with this index and middle finger; Nate smiled and did the same. Espera finally had his chance and he took it. The figure skating world just got another serious contender for medals.

The announcer called out Brad's name, so Nate went as close as he could to the ice. Brad was skating to something with a lot of Japanese strings and violins, and like Brad, it was simple and unfussy. He opened his routine with an incredible quadruple toe loop-triple toe loop combination, and skated a typically clean and precise program from there. He was a samurai sword held by a master, except it was on ice and in fluid, graceful motion. When Brad finished, he got great applause, but even Nate has to concede that Espera was much better tonight, even though Brad went out there and skated one of his best routines. Brad skated back to his coach and their eyes met across the ice. Nate smiled, mouthing 'you were good out there' which Brad accepted with a quirk of his lips. 'So were you' he mouthed back to Nate.

After a lengthy pause, Brad's score was released, and it was a record high for Brad at 259.15. Espera took the gold, Brad silver and Person bronze. Schwetje was knocked out of the podium, Nate was fifth, and he was damned happy about it.

***

Nate went back on the rink after everyone left. He liked hearing the slice of his skates on the ice without the crowd and the music. The rink owners were affiliated with his old sponsors, and they let him skate after hours while Nate waited for Brad. He was doing figure eights on the ice when he heard Brad call out his name.

"Nate, you ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be in the locker room."

Nate skated off the rink and put on his skate guards. When he walked into the locker room, Brad was sliding into his jeans.

"Don't," Nate said. "Don't put it on yet." He went between Brad's legs and unzipped the pants Brad had just buttoned.

"Nate," Brad said, his voice sounding shaky. "You don't have to honor the bet right now."

Nate looked up and found Brad's arctic blue eyes staring down at him, eagerness and consideration jockeying for position. "I want to," Nate said as he knelt on the floor.

Brad huffed a soft laugh. "Far be it for me to stop you then."

Nate put his hands on Brad's thighs and pushed down so that Brad would sit down on the bench. Brad raised his ass so that he could slide his jeans off, and Nate peeled off of him along with Brad's boxers. He stroked Brad's thighs and watched his cock stiffen and engorge, smelled his freshly showered skin and a faint hint of musk and thought that there was nowhere he'd rather be, nothing he'd rather do more than this.

Brad and Nate have known each other for a long time, but they've only began seeing each other that way for about a month. However, Nate had a few good guesses as to what pushed Brad's buttons. He took a deep breath and inhaled Brad on the first try, going all the way down to the root, his nose meeting Brad's pubic hair.

"I'm not gonna last long if you keep doing that," Brad warned, effort to hold back clear in his voice.

Nate slowly released Brad's cock from his mouth, made sure to tongue the thick veins and the ridges. It slides off with an obscene pop. Brad let out a breath that sounded loud in the quiet locker room.

"Fuck my mouth," Nate said.

"Nate," Brad said through his teeth. "Don't say shit like that."

"Do it," Nate said. Brad groaned, pulled him by the ears and fucked Nate's mouth hard. Nate felt his jaw getting sore, spit dripping down his mouth and on Brad's rigid cock, felt the back of his throat convulsing and he wanted more. He felt the tremors rocking through Brad's body and knew that he was about to come, so Nate grabbed Brad by the ass and held him in his mouth. The bench was squeaking, scraping on the concrete floor, Brad's gasps an erratic counter echo.

"Nate, Jesus Christ, Nate," Brad said, his voice broken as he comes in a rush. Nate swallowed him down.

***

They cleaned each other up –- thank God none of the janitorial staff had come in, and for the showers being right there. Brad didn't want to attend any of the parties afterward even though he and Espera were friends, and they'd said all that they needed to during the medal ceremony. Nate got into his car and saw Brad following on his bike. He pulled into his spot and went ahead to his apartment, knowing Brad was a minute away at most.

When Brad walked in, he had his silver medal in his hand. He walked over to Nate and put it on him without ceremony, then went into the fridge to get a beer. Nate felt the heavy weight of the medal around his neck and thought that maybe he had a shot at a color in another month.

Nate turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, stopping when he saw _Blade Runner_ playing on one of the stations. Brad sat at the far corner and tugged Nate next to him. After a minute, Nate surrendered to the moment and put his head on Brad's lap.

As Harrison Ford ran through a dystopian future city, Brad asked the question that Nate knew had been in the air since they left the locker room.

"Where the hell did that come from, in the locker room?"

"You won silver," Nate replied.

"The deal was just a handjob. I thought we were working our way up to a blowjob."

"You won silver," Nate said again. Brad started to play with Nate's hair.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Brad asked quietly.

"Oh, around," Nate said, trying for levity.

He caught Brad's expression when he looked up, Brad caught unaware so Nate saw the expression there before he managed to hide it.

"What is it?" Nate asked.

Brad watched the TV intently. "I hate that you did it with someone else before me," he said after a few minutes. "I know it's stupid. I guess I just thought it would be your first time too, with me. With a guy."

Nate got up and sat on Brad's lap. He stroked Brad's cheeks with his thumbs. "Brad, it was my first time."

Brad's eyes were rings of blue around dark pupil. "Don't insult my intelligence like that, Nate."

"I'm not," Nate said. "I swear."

"Then how?"

Nate sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Don't look at the cucumbers in the refrigerator," he said, feeling his face flush. He was probably bright red right now.

When he looked down, Brad was staring at him in disbelief. Neither of them looked away, and it was Brad who lost it first. He laughed and laughed, crying from it and almost knocking Nate off his lap.

Brad shook his head after a few minutes, a big smile on his face. "Nate," he said, "I promise you right here, right now, that I will master the art of the deep-throat blowjob on the real thing."

They didn't make it to the end of _Blade Runner_; they fell asleep instead, nothing more happening apart from a few sloppy kisses and aggressive groping. Brad fell asleep first, but Nate wasn't that far behind. He dreamed of gold.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Some differences from the original post due to clean-up.


End file.
